An inordinate reader of _Vogue_; spends her mornings at Lucile’s; Paris is her Heaven; would sell her child for a Callot lace teagown; has to be torn, nightly, from shop windows; wears openwork stockings for breakfast. Our artist shows her in one of her frequent _bruised_ moments. Her husband simply can’t understand how Poiret’s bill can be so much for a single week. But then he _never_ understands anything. He is just a business man. No heart! No soul! No inspired moments! She is married to a “ledger,” a man who is nothing but a glorified adding machine. Her “jailer” has, with the characteristic brutality of a Hun, just refused to sign a blank check which she has made payable to Lanvin. He is trying to squirm out of it by saying that he is overdrawn at the bank--which statement she has just branded as a wilful, malicious and palpable LIE. She knows what he is up to. He wants to HURT her! [Illustration] THE HUMAN BANK ACCOUNT And here is the last portrait in our gallery--the rich or MONEYED wife. We would like entirely to discontinue the manufacture of this model and substitute for it, on all future occasions, the old-fashioned, penniless, demure, rosy-cheeked, Oh Alfred, all-for-love, type of wife, but, alas, business is business, and rents, and club dues, and golf balls, and servants wages, are all going up, so why not recognize the fact that a rich wife is a good thing to _begin_ on; something to hang on to until you get up a little free action in the direction of True Love? The only trouble with marrying a rich wife is that, when you sign up for life, you are handed a leather leash along with the wedding certificate. Put a metal collar on your neck and a little red velvet blanket around your middle and you might just as well be Yami, or Sing Hi, or Chihuahua, the only three things in the world that your female meal-ticket really seems to love. Observe the prisoner’s heart-breaking, backward glance! The cry of anguish: the caged spirit, sending out an S.O.S. to two lovely nymphs. [Illustration] Opening of the Opera Season _The opera opened--to crowded boxes--with the usual performance of “Aïda.” Such of the fashionable people who came an act late, left an act early, slept during the second act, and talked in between times, passed an unusually pleasant evening._ [Illustration] THE POOR, INNOCENT VICTIM What type of bridge player is the most spirit-blighting? Some favor the talking player; some the cheat--but we must vote, on every ballot, for the three girlies mirrored on this page. First, there is the creature shown above, who, after losing five rubbers, suddenly registers horror with the orbs, and exclaims in dismay: “Heavens! are we playing for _money_? I never dreamed of such a thing! I _never_ play for anything!” Note the indifference of the other participants--intensified by financial anguish. [Illustration] Blighters at Bridge _A Terrifying Triumvirate of Familiar Lady Auction Pests_ [Illustration]